


Blind for Fear of Us

by Prix



Category: Skins (UK)
Genre: Bittersweet, Consensual Underage Sex, F/M, Mental Health Issues, Missing Scene, Sibling Incest, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-11-08 08:56:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20832791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prix/pseuds/Prix
Summary: Tony comes home after taking Sid to the airport and parting ways with Michelle. Effy is waiting for him.[Missing Scene-ish fic from the end of S2. Note the tags for content warnings.]





	Blind for Fear of Us

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a fill for my **trust issues** square for [my hurt/comfort bingo card](https://prixmium.dreamwidth.org/7685.html#cutid1). 
> 
> I have kind of meant to write a fic like this for literal years, and I finally got it out on virtual paper? 
> 
> I would love any kind of comments in good faith, but gawking at the subject matter is unnecessary. Remember "don't like don't read"? 
> 
> This is not written as a fic to cater to any specific fetish, and it isn't written simply as erotic content. If you enjoy it as such, that's great! But please bear in mind that I wrote this as a thought on specific characters, their interactions, and what may have been under circumstances. By writing this, I in no way condone unhealthy behaviors or untreated mental illness. I only am taking interest in them as a reflection of characters I have seen in a fictional medium and as a part of the human condition. 
> 
> Peace, etc.

Tony ascends the stairs. It’s late, and his parents don’t stir or say a word. No flight of fury nor doting terror. All back to normal then.  


He stops off in the washroom and looks at himself in the mirror. His hair is too long, and his bright blue eyes aren’t particularly becoming when they are rimmed in red as they are. He has said goodbye to a lot of things tonight.  


He strips off his clothes without grace or form. He hears the avalanche of white noise as he turns on and adjusts the shower. He drenches himself in hot water, trying to make the heat of tears envelop him all over, trying to break the fever.  


His best friend. The closest thing he’s ever known to loving a girl. Every other person who’d just so happened to put up with him because of one of those two people for the past few years. They’re all gone. Even if he finds them again in the morning, nothing will be the same, and for a little while he doesn’t move from where he stands.  


Water streams down over his face, his closed eyes weeping hot tears that blend in with the water. Then he needs to breathe. He straightens himself and turns around, letting the water pelt his back instead. It is a mostly passive shower as the water pressure seems to try and skin him alive.  


Finally, he finds some shower gel and gives his due diligence. When he has finished, he steps out, drips onto a common rug, and towels himself off, hair first. Finally, the cool and dampened towel drapes over his hip bones and he folds it over himself. In the past, he might have lost himself in some fancy about looking like an antiquarian god. These days, he doesn’t think he looks that good.  


If nothing else, lying around so much after the accident has made him lose some muscle tone.  


He runs his fingers back through his wet hair in a half-hearted attempt to make it look like something he remembers. It gives a half-hearted effort to stay in place. He sighs and leans some of his weight into the sink as he brushes his teeth. He spits, rinses his mouth, and shuts off the light.  


He checks the fold of his towel, but the house is dark and quiet with the sounds of parents snoring, machines softly humming, and A/C pushing air through the house. He feels a bit of a chill brush across his skin. His feet pad along the floor to his bedroom. He slips inside and closes the door. He is standing in front of his underwear drawer, reaching down to unfold the towel and let it drop to the floor, when he hears:  


“Tony.”  


Her voice is muffled, and he somehow knows that it is beneath the duvet before he looks.  


“Effy,” he scolds. He turns to her, awkwardly catching the towel in a bunch about his hip, fiddling to fix it before it falls. “For fuck’s sake, you scared me.”  


“Sorry,” she says, smiling easily and sitting up against the pillows, duvet still draped across her lap.  


“What’re you doing there?” he asks, patience returning just a little for her sake.  


Effy presses her lips together in a tight line. He can only see her in the light that leeches in from the window - streetlamps and the moon. Other people who haven’t turned off the lights.  


“I was thinking…” she says in a tone that spells trouble.  


Tony feels his stomach twist into an anxious knot.  


“Effy. Whatever it is…” he says, not sure if he is about to offer blanket help, blanket protection, or a blanket warning that they should really both stop doing dangerous, reckless things. That she really should, especially if he’ll be off somewhere at university in just a couple of months. He would offer any of those things to her, but he has jumped the gun and can’t work out from looking across at her in the darkened room which she needs him to say.  


Her lips pop softly as she adjusts them, freeing them up for speech. She reaches across and turns down the corner of the duvet closest to him.  


“Come to bed,” she says, as if this is a perfectly normal and reasonable thing to ask.  


Tony furrows his brow and breathlessly chuckles at her. He shakes his head briefly as if to rattle some sense back into the room.  


“You scared of something, Effy?” he asks, half-challenge and half genuine concern.  


“Only… one thing, really,” she says, and he feels her weaving words around a spool that makes him quite uncomfortable. He can see right through her when she does this, but he has to try.  


“Least let me put some underwear on first,” he says dryly, trying to push his way through the fog. He turns his back on her, still clutching one-handed to the towel.  


“You don’t need to,” she says. He looks back over his shoulder, and out of the corner of his eye, he thinks he sees her silhouette fidgeting with her own fingers in her lap, almost disinterested.  


“I think I will, Eff,” he says drolly. He tries not to think too hard about it. He tries not to think.  


He works the underwear drawer open, draws out the first pair he lays his hand on. He wishes he couldn’t feel his heart pounding. She’s his sister. They’ve seen each other half-dressed and undressed dozens of times. Especially over the past year, Tony doesn’t have much claim to his naked body’s dignity. But still his heartbeat seems intent on making his hands tremble.  


“Mind your eyes,” he says. Then he drops the towel, back still to her, and quickly pulls his underwear on. The waistband almost stings as it snaps into place. Then he has both his trembling hands, and he reaches for the drawer above. He pulls out a t-shirt and tugs it down over his head. He feels cool water snake down the back of his neck and to the dip of his spine.  


Satisfied that he’s covered up enough, he kicks the towel to the side on the otherwise immaculate carpeted floor. Then he turns back to face her. He meets her eyes, instantly.  


He realizes that this means she couldn’t have been looking anywhere else.  


He approaches his bed, still obedient but hesitating.  


“What are you doing, Effy?”  


“Sit down, at least,” she insists, gestured to the side of the bed she had turned down. She pats it gently.  


He sighs and does what she says, sitting down and turned to face her, looking up at the pair of pillows and his sister leaned against them.  


“Now will you tell me what’s going on?” he prompts.  


Effy stares into his eyes for a moment. When she looks down, back to her entwined fingers in her lap, he sees the first inkling of hesitation in her own.  


“Whatever it is--” he starts to say.  


“I think we should be together,” she says, interrupting him and any train of thought he might have had.  


His brain scrambles for the sane connotations of what he had just heard, hoping that any of them will stick before she says anything else. No such luck.  


“... I think it’s time,” she says, pressing on rather formally, though she doesn’t look up from her hands.  


“What,” he says flatly. It isn’t a question. It  _ can’t _ be a question. His heart rate still hasn’t gone back down to normal, and the tips of his fingers and his face start to burn.  


“Tony,” Effy chides softly. She too is wearing a t-shirt, and when she climbs out from beneath the duvet it becomes apparent that she is also only wearing her underwear. Tony stares at her smooth legs, glinting in the bluish half-light the comes in through the window, uninvited and undeterred. She slides cross the crumpled duvet on her knees until they bump into his legs. She looks at his eyes. There is nothing in her gaze but fondness - love, he thinks - that he has seen so many times before. They are beyond counting.  


She reaches up and combs her fingers through his still dripping-damp hair. She styles it a little, soft, relaxed comfort overtaking her frame. With it, she is lulling him, too. Maybe she hasn’t just suggested what he thinks she has suggested. Maybe this is just Effy being enigmatic. Maybe she will finally tell him what’s up, and then they can both get a decent night’s sleep. It isn’t like either of them have school tomorrow.  


He closes his eyes and lets out a deep breath.  


Even with his eyes closed, he is aware of further darkness surrounding him, warmth coming with it. Effy shifts her weight on the bed, and suddenly he knows that she is blocking the light from the window and from everywhere else in the world. She is close enough that their noses bump slightly, and he knows that she must have done it on purpose. Her eyelids look heavy, but she is looking right at him. She holds his gaze for a moment, expertly not saying a word.  


When he cannot manage one to deter her, she tilts her head a little more. Her dark curls fall to the side and he feels the longest of them brush against the top of his bare thigh. She leans up just a little, and just like that his sister’s lips are pressed against his.  


His mind races. Funnily enough, he is still searching for rational explanations.  


_ She is his sister _ .  


Surely her lips have been pressed against his before.  


_ She is his sister.  
_

She has kissed him before. He has kissed her. It is fine. It doesn’t mean anything.  


_ ‘Be together,’  _ her voice echoes in his mind. His racing heartbeat seems to swirl and regroup in his chest before marching forward with instinctive purpose.  


“Effy,” he says, muffled against her mouth before she can  _ do _ anything else. He reaches up and catches her by her upper arm, gripping carefully but firmly.  


“It’s okay,” she tells him, not moving away but giving him just enough space to breathe. She meets his eyes. “I’ve thought about it, and it’s okay.”  


“You’ve thought about  _ what _ ?” he asks, a little too loudly as he sits up straight and inches away from her - only an inch.  


“Tony, I know that everything is changing for you,” she says. “Or you feel like it is. But it really isn’t. Things will… fall back into place. If you’re supposed to be with Michelle, you’ll be with Michelle. You and Sid’ll find your own way. You’ll go to a great university, and you’ll become something great and even more insufferable than you’ve ever been,” she rattles off. She manages to sound somehow both disinterested and fond. “But now…”  


And that must be the important part to whatever mad thought has entered her mind.  


“But  _ what _ ?” he asks, only a little more restrained. His voice has gone low, like he wants to be angry with her.  


“... But now. Here, now. This is… our liminal space,” she explains to him. She has used a term that feels stolen from his own mind against him, but she always has been able to keep up with him.  


“We aren’t books or myths, Effy,” he says, suddenly aware of how often her name comes out of his mouth. He reaches up and his fingertips scrub at his lips as if to wipe something offending away.  


She doesn’t look hurt.  


“But we are legendary,” she says dryly.  


“Stop it.”  


“You can say ‘no,’” she tells him. Then she reaches out and places her open, soft palm over his collarbone, half on his shirt and half against his skin. She lets her whole hand conform to the shape of his body, and she rubs a slow, soothing circle. Her thumb brushes at the side of his neck. It feels nice, making his skin prickle with warmth and a vague, not quite sexual arousal.  


Tony swallows until he thinks he might swallow his voice itself.  


“... But I think I… No, I  _ want _ this,” she says. “I want you.”  


Tony feels like his blood is rushing into his temples, which is better than some other places it could go but no less disconcerting. He reaches up to rub at one of them.  


“Why?” he asks her. It is the most dangerous question in the universe right now but one he was born asking.  


Effy’s eyes widen just a little. He sees a ghostly smile come across her face. It is as if he has given her the very thing she wants just by asking. He doesn’t know whether he feels hope or sick disappointment that perhaps this will be enough.  


“We’re the same,” she says. “And no one else you’ve ever met understands that, and no one else I’ve ever met cares.”  


Her hand presses against the top of his chest, up to his shoulder. Then her fingertips brush up the side of his neck until they trace the shell of his ear. He shivers.  


“We’re brother and sister,” he says.  


“I didn’t ask you to marry me,” she replies.  


“Do you have even the slightest idea how fucked up what you’re saying is?” he asks her.  


He wonders how she could know - the thought that has haunted him since that night. Trying to imagine  _ how _ he was going to get it up and keep it up long enough to satisfy  _ them _ that he had hurt her enough to save her. His throat felt sore and dry. He wonders  _ if _ she remembers any of that night.  


He feels himself freeze, and suddenly that is all he is looking for in her eyes. Recognition, or a lack thereof.  


He wonders if she is punishing him, but there is nothing but soft honesty in her eyes - no mask that she puts on for other people. No makeup, no fishnets. Only her.  


“I love you, Tony,” she says. “And I’m not sure I love anyone else in the whole world. I’m not sure if I ever… will love anyone… the way I love you now.”  


It punches him in the gut. It coils around the knot in his stomach. It touches and moves him and warms whatever twisted form of a heart he has managed to develop through a lot of cruel, cowardly, cold shit. His mouth gapes softly, and he pulls in a breath against what feels like odds stacked against him.  


“But you’re my sister,” he argues softly. It sounds like a forgotten mantra of something he doesn’t remember how to believe in.  


“And you’re my brother, and I don’t care. I still think that if I’ve ever wanted to do anything but  _ fuck _ anyone, it’s you. And I think you… need me now.”  


He hears the edge in her voice that reminds him of himself a year ago, that reminds him of a quieted flame that lingers in him still. The low pilot light of incurable rage that isn’t sure where to go. Everyone else in the world can go to hell. But he has never seen anything as beautiful as she is. And it’s intoxicating. And he knows that he has thought that in some dark, malignant part of his mind for a lot time. He wishes he could help her. He wishes he could save her from the years of pain that are ahead if she carries on feeling that way.  


And suddenly the madness overtakes him, because it occurs to him that if he does  _ this _ , if they do  _ this _ , then  _ maybe _ he could…  


“Why do you think I need you?” he asks her in a low tone that could have been the most cutting dismissal he could muster. Instead, his hand loosens its grip and slides down her arm to the bend of her elbow and back up along the soft skin he catches. He is negotiating with her, chaste affection running a hand along her arm.  


“Because I’ll  _ always _ be what I am to you right now,” Effy says. “And because I want you to be this to me before you go away…”  


He is aware of the contradiction in what she says. It dizzies him like a hit of something powerful that shouldn’t be in his bloodstream.  


He lets go of her arm. He draws himself away, sits up straight, and then slumps at the side of his bed, still seated there. He puts his feet on the floor.  


She leaves him alone for a moment.  


He thinks about the version of him that would get up and leave the room.  


He doesn’t leave.  


She reaches up and rubs his back between his shoulder blades, already so familiar with his body. Because of course she would be.  


“You are… talking about… sex. Right?” he asks, still hanging his head as if to combat dizziness.  


“Yes. Fucking. But nicer,” Effy provides helpfully, confidently. He has never envied her confidence the way he does now. It isn’t quite that, though. He takes a deep breath and looks down at his hands, palms up. He feels like he is looking for blood on them.  


“Effy, do you know what happened? That night you overdosed…” he prompts. He cannot give her an answer without knowing.  


“Yes,” she says. “I’ve… put it together, and I’ve heard things. And I’m not… stupid,” she says.  


“Is this…” he starts to ask, but he cannot formulate the right question.  


She moves so she rests her chin against his shoulder. She speaks near but not quite into his ear.  


“About that? No. Not the way you’re worrying anyway,” she says. Then she kisses his temple at the hairline. It feels like a hypothetical kiss of absolution. She is giving him permission to ignore the subtext of this conversation, the actual text of it in parts, and to walk away. “If anything, knowing what you would’ve done… and what you couldn’t do for me. It’s sweet,” she announces. Then she kisses his head again and draws away, sitting back toward the center of his bed to give him some breathing room.  


He takes a few deep breaths, free of her. Then he looks back over his shoulder and turns to her again. She has him tethered somehow, and he doesn’t give it a name.  


“Do you mean…  _ now _ ?” he asks.  _ Just once _ . A one-night stand with his sister.  _ Great _ . Everyone who had ever hated him would have another reason to. “Or… you want to… do  _ this _ ,” he said, making a vague, rounded gestured between the two of them.  


Much to his chagrin, Effy shrugs.  


He glares at her and tilts his head slightly. He is giving her a warning of sorts, and she picks up on it without a sound.  


“Now, yes,” she says. “And whatever happens…” She looks sidelong over her shoulder, up to the head of his bed. She is beautiful, and she looks just a little but not really anything like him. He remembers his mildly psychotic, self-actualization experience from a few months back. He loves her more than that. Her eyes catch him off-guard again. “I will always belong to you. Whether you fuck me or not,” she tells him with no sour taste behind the word. “And if you want it… only once… then this is the underworld… and I’m Euridyce,” she says with a gentle, nostalgic smirk.  


Tony decides that he is pathetic, because that simple reference has him convinced, his mind treading water that is over his head. He nods dumbly.  


“Is that a yes?” Effy asks coyly, her hand going down to the hem of her long t-shirt. His eyes flit down to follow the movement, but weirdly whatever he is considering isn’t quite motivated by the same testosterone-eyeball pipeline the dictates at least half of most typical male sexual experiences. He has seen her legs before. He has seen her soft, lean belly and her bra and probably even her panties before. He hasn’t seen her totally naked since it has mattered, but he doesn’t think it would change anything about her to him.  


And that’s strangely reassuring.  


He really is sick, and so is she probably. But he has never found medicine for what they are, and he thinks that maybe she is right. Perhaps they are the only antidote for one another’s madness.  


“Wh-What do I--” he starts to ask, finding himself tongue-tied and hoping that it isn’t his addled brain.  


She reaches out for his face and brushes her thumb over his cheek.  


“Closer,” she coaxes him.  


He turns fully to face her and draws himself closer. They meet in the middle of the bed and Effy, dramatic and practiced, pulls her shirt up over her head. She is still wearing a bra. Its vibrant, jewel color is hard to make out specifically in the low light, but it matches her panties. A lump forms in Tony’s throat, if only because he knows that means that she actually did think  _ this _ through.  


He feels like he has thought too soon about the function of his libido. He feels his blood pumping, and even if it isn’t fully hard, he feels he’s standing by at battle stations.  


Things he hadn’t been able to do when he’d still had a girlfriend.  


He is almost grateful when she pulls him by his jaw toward her face. Out of habit, he tilts his head appropriately, and this time he lets her put her lips against his. They are still for a moment, still almost chaste by the standards of some very backwoods Welshmen, he figures. Then, trying to commit to it or once and for all realize that he can’t do this, he lets his lip slide against hers and takes a draw for another touch of her mouth. He feels someone’s saliva softly moisten their delicate skin, and he feels her smile against him.  


“It’s okay,” she tells him again in their now shared breath.  


He nods, feeling himself quiver a bit again.  


She has a go at kissing him a bit more aggressively. It riles his body only a little before he starts to pull back from her.  


“I thought you said ‘but nicer,’” he says. And he is dizzy-dizzy-dizzy, high as fuck, drunk on something, because he is teasing her about what she’d said about fucking him.  


“I don’t know how, exactly,” she says.  


And that’s heartbreaking, but he has no idea what to tell her. Instead he just nods and with a soft, still protective (brotherly? if he could dare think himself that now) look on his face.  


“I’m… not in any rush,” he tells her, damning himself more and more by the second.  


She looks back at him, and for a second he thinks he sees something like fear in her eyes.  


“You can stop this. Change your mind. I…. only want… you…”  


Effy reaches up and mashes two fingers over his mouth.  


“I know,” she tells him flatly. Then she moves back into almost the place she had been in when he had entered the room.  


He is dimly aware that he hadn’t locked his door.  


He is also fully aware that it probably matters fuck-all for all their parents will ever know.  


She lifts the duvet to the full height of her arm, leaning back against one of the pillows. She squirms until most of her hair is spilled across it. She parts her legs a bit, bent at the knees. Then she gestures for him to come under the covers after her.  


“Oh Jesus,” he says to himself, praying for forgiveness and with a kind of dizzy gratitude if he’d ever believed a word of it. She laughs at him, trying to keep herself quiet. Her face lights up like starlight.  


“Come on, you idiot,” she says.  


He tries his best to keep almost all of his weight on his arms. He sees where she wants him, and he can imagine sliding right between her legs. But for the first bit, he eases down onto his knees. And one of them he allows to rest between her legs.  


She seems satisfied enough with this and drops the duvet over them both, creating a tiny amount of shelter to hide this misdeed for all it’s worth.  


“Don’t let me hurt you,” he pleads with her. Everything he feels about her wrapping around his brain and his mangled heart and trying to inch its way to the vicinity of his dick, and that’s the  _ one thing _ he is absolutely  _ sure _ he wants from her, with her, for her.  


“I don’t think you  _ can _ , Tony,” she says drolly.  


“I mean it,” he says.  


“Yes, yes,” she says, agreeing dismissively but smiling warmly up at him.  


“... Well, then,” he says after a moment’s hesitation. Then, he slowly pulls his knee up so it is nestled  _ right _ between her legs. He moves his leg, just slightly up, and then draws it away again, teasing contact and response from her in a familiar way that seems amateurish enough to be appropriate for this uncharted territory of madness.  


He hears her full-breath gasp and feels it too as he eases some of his weight against his forearms. He looks down to see her face as he makes the slow, rounded movement again. She is quiet, but he is convinced from the way her eyes flutter that she isn’t faking it.  


“Good?” he asks compulsively.  


“Y-Yes, you… praise-hound,” she grumbles.  


He chuckles softly.  


“I can stop,” he says, but this time it’s taunting, rather as if he has managed to compartmentalize the insanity of the situation for later or possibly never.  


“N-No,” she says, and she reaches up to catch him by the arm. It is just above the bend of his elbow, and she presses her fingers in. With her eyes closed, she feels along, through body fat and muscle, tracing the shape of him in such an innocent place. He can feel her fantasizing about this, even while it happens, and he is drawn into the slow, hypnotic cycle that her hips begin to match.  


She is hot between her legs, and there is only a thin layer of fabric between her and the skin of his knee and upper thigh. He knows she must be getting noticeably wet as her hips keep slowly moving, almost as if she is letting him lull her into a wet dream. If girls have those the way guys do, he thinks.  


“Tony,” she mumbles softly, alerting him to the fact that she is probably still actually conscious.  


He bows down over her and breaths with her, taking in the warmth of her exhaling so close to him. It is comforting. He knows her better than anyone.  


Her hand finds the back of his neck and grips it softly. She pulls a little, and he takes some initiative. He tilts his head and first kisses her cheek softly. Then, he is on to her neck. There, his mouth sucks softly and opens wide and wet. He is careful not to suck in any one place too hard or too long. He can’t leave his sister with a hickie. And against all better judgment, he feels a jolt of arousal help stiffen his reluctant cock.  


Effy lifts her chin and tilts her head to make her neck longer in his reach.  


“Good?” he asks.  


“You know that’s obnoxious,” she says, bubbling approval in her voice despite the words themselves.  


“Sorry,” he says. “Trying to be a decent boyfriend never came naturally to me.”  


“Obviously,” she says, without comment on any of what else that may have implied.  


He meets her eyes, unsure what to do for a moment as he goes still, knee included. She pulls at him again and their lips come together. This time kissing her seems more natural, and she isn’t trying to bite him or goad him into wrecking her. It is one of the most sensual things he has ever known, and finally he is the one who breaks the wet silence with a low hum from deep in his chest.  


“‘m wet enough,” she says, muffled as she lets him breathe.  


He knows exactly what she means, but he has to give her a somewhat wide-eyed expression anyway.  


“I’m not in any hurry either, but you can do anything else you want with me later,” she says confidently.  


He shakes his head a bit, trying to dismiss her alarming insistence that she sees to have few if any limits on what she wants to do. He doesn’t think now is the time for that conversation, though, since this is what they had… talked about.  


“Hang on. I probably have condoms,” he says, having a sort of out-of-body experience as he says this looking Effy in the eye. He leans over and extends his arm a little further, fumbling for the bedside table drawer.  


Effy looks up, not quite rolling her eyes, and huffing out a breath.  


“You don’t have to, you know.”

“You’re joking, right?” he says flatly as he draws two small square packets out of the drawer.  


“I know you wouldn’t let yourself be anything but clean, and I’m… not gonna get pregnant,” she says.  


He looks down into her eyes and there is something a little more authoritative in his.  


“I’m… especially not…  _ now _ . This… time,” he says, stumbling over a certain elephant in the room that he has no idea how to tackle. “... I won’t without being sure,” he says.  


“Suit yourself,” Effy says. “Makes little difference to me.”  


Tony holds one of the packets between his teeth, and as he repositions himself back over her, he glances up and down her abdomen. He quickly sets the packet aside, just beneath one of his hands. He sees how skinny she keeps herself, and he looks back up to her face.  


“It should make a difference,” he says. “How people… treat you.”  


For once, Effy doesn’t argue with him. She just looks up into his eyes like she isn’t sure what to say.  


“You want me to touch you?” he asks.  


“I want you to…” she says quickly, but then she looks at his eyes again.  


“... Yes,” she says firmly. It seems that she has remembered something more than that she has changed her mind.  


“Alright then…” he says. He steels himself. Then he hooks his finger around her panties and pulls them aside. He looks at her, and he sees a translucent little string of wetness naturally held between each side of the folds of her body. He swallows hard sympathetically as his cock throbs in much the same way. He doesn’t know if he’s going to be able to do this, but not for the reasons he tries earnestly not to remember now.  


When he has collected his senses again, he uses a fingertip to part her lips, inner and outer, right down the center. Then he brushes his fingertip back up to find her clit, pad of his finger dampened from touching her.  


She makes a pleased  _ ‘mm,’  _ sound that sounds comfortably safe beneath the duvet.  


“Tony,” she murmurs again. She parts her legs a little more, demonstrative of what she wants.  


He isn’t sure he trusts that she doesn’t just think that’s what  _ he _ must want. It pleads for more brain power than he feels he has to spare at the moment. To make up for it, he hooks his finger just under and beneath her clit and moves it in a slow, concentrated circle. She draws in a deep breath, and he can feel how hard and hot the little nub is.  


She grits her teeth and he sees it tighten her throat as he watches her face.  


“Relax,” he coaxes.  


“I want,” she says, still partly through gritted teeth.  


“I’m not telling you ‘no,’” he reminds her softly.  


“You-You’re  _ not _ gonna make me come that easily,” he promises him as if this is a bargaining chip.  


“Well, I…” he says, stopping for a moment as he tries to read what exactly she had meant by that.  


“And you don’t have to before you do anything else. Or at all. I just wanna… feel you. Be with you,” she repeats. And she reaches for his shoulder but then her hands are scrambling for his shirt. She tugs at it, wanting to take it off.  


He surrenders and lets and helps her pull his shirt back over his head. She lets it fall down beside them on the bed. On his bed. Where he is about to fuck or make love to or utterly fuck up his sister. He really hopes it isn’t the last one, but for now this seems right. He loves her, and it somehow seems connected skin to skin. His blood in her blood and vice versa and how that had never made sense to him before and how it does  _ now _ is enough to make his eyes burn.  


Madness or love, and he isn’t sure there is a difference.  


He sinks down beneath the duvet with her, drawn to her body heat and away from the cool air around them.  


Effy squirms and lifts her hips, pulling her panties down below them.  


“Help me,” she says simply, and with hardly a thought he helps her pull them down. She kicks them off, and he isn’t sure where they go under the blankets.  


Then all that is left is her bra, and somehow she looks elegant that way. He reaches up and brushes his fingers through her hair, careful when he catches tangles in the curls not to pull them.  


“Are you gonna get in me sometime tonight?” she asks.  


“I… I think I’m going to try,” Tony says, suddenly aware of the problems he’d had previously. Looks down - this time toward his own groin and his half-hard erection in his underwear.  


“I’m not going to be upset if you have… trouble,” she tells him abruptly.  


She knows that, too.  


“Are you sure you want to…”  


“Just show it to me,” Effy bargains, meeting his eyes and then luridly looking down over his chest and to his groin.  


He obeys, taking a ‘fuck it,’ sort of approach for a moment. The moment he is naked in his own bed, though, she reaches out and takes hold of it, firm around the center of the shaft. She moves her hand up and down - just a little, making herself known. And no matter how many handjobs he’s had, manual or granted by others, he can’t help but feel like she has nearly torn him inside out by the foreskin from the suddenness of  _ Effy _ grabbing his cock.  


“Careful,” he pleads.  


But she is being careful, slow. Gentle.  


He sighs and his eyes lose focus up toward the top of his bed.  


“Look at me,” she requests.  


_ Right _ .  


He looks down at her eyes, glances down at her hand, and back to her face, and feels dizzily like he doesn’t know what to do.  


“I think you’re hard enough,” she says encouragingly.  


Then she squirms a bit more and parts her legs wide enough again to accommodate his hips.  


“Wait,” he says.

“Condom?” she asks.  


He nods quickly.  


“Right, fine,” she says flippantly. Then she quickly opens the packet and slides it onto him, her hands still warm and gentle. He sighs with relief - from the touch and the fact that she has agreed to this. “Now, please, and don’t ask me if I’m sure again. I am, Tony. I want  _ you _ . I want you inside me.”  


Her hand moves from the side of his abdomen to his low back, then down to his hip and a little further down, gripping flesh playfully. “Come on,” she coaxes.  


With a hiss of breath, he reaches down and aligns himself. He feels dizzy and even through the condom he rubs the head of his cock up and down her slit. He presses it against her clit and feels the warm, hot shape of it and meets her half-lidded eyes at the same time. She nods again, though she seems momentarily at least as enraptured with this as he is.  


And finally, finally, a few moments later he presses between her inner lips. Then with only a soft grunt of adjustment, she easily lets him inside. It seems like it shouldn’t have been that easy, but he settles over her, weight against his elbows and abdomen flat against hers. He is inside his sister, and there isn’t any taking it back. He has done this, and nothing that would have come of his not doing it is possible now. But there are other possibilities he had never known about before, somewhere beyond the haze of what he is able to think about right now, which boils down to her and her eyes and the warm familiarity in them. There is mischief there. She is smirking with satisfaction. She seems almost unfairly relaxed as she is so  _ tight _ around him.  


As if she punctuate the point, he feels her  _ do something _ with her muscles just to rub it in.  


She sighs softly, again sounding so calm like this has made her feel more at ease.  


“It’s alright, Tony,” she tells him. “You can move,” she says, knowing what his body  _ needs _ him to do now.  


He grinds his hips into her, gratified by the grateful little growl in her throat. He kisses the side of her face and the edge of her hairline. He breathes in, smelling  _ her _ and knowing he belongs  _ here _ . His hips move just a little more urgently, pulling out a bit more and thrusting a little further back in.  


Effys fingers find places to touch him, but she never holds onto one place for very long. She feels his sides and makes his breath shudder with surprising ticklishness that makes him give her broken laughter through his labored, eager breath. Then she holds the back of one of his arms again, and he wonders if she  _ likes _ them. Then she feels along his back, but she doesn’t dig her nails in. Her fingertips press hard, almost bruising hard sometimes, but he thinks he likes that better.  


He bows his head further into the crook of her neck. For a while, he just breathes. Then, as she draws the duvet further over them fitfully, he feels as if he might smother. He lifts his head and kisses her neck, trying to make sure to grind hard enough when he thrusts inside to  _ help her _ .  


It is hypnotic, and he hasn’t known ease like this in so long. Maybe never. It is fairly slow, and he doesn’t  _ want _ to finish. Especially not without feeling her come. He wants to feel her body tighten and tense. He wants to know it’s real.  


“Effy, can you…” he asks.  


“What?” she asks, breath so heavy that it seems to imply that she is indulging him with an answer but cannot possibly imagine what he wants to  _ talk _ about right now.  


“Do you think you can come?” he asks, voice low and rough with want but a little pleading-pitiful, too.  


“I…” she says, and she seems to be trying to swim to the surface from a trance. He looks at her bright eyes and leans to rest his forehead against hers for a moment. “You don’t have to  _ try _ … I just wanna know if you can… so I can…” He groans a little as the thought catches up with his groin. “... feel you.”  


“Mmm,” Effy replies, perhaps thinking about it, perhaps agreeing. She closes her eyes for a long moment, and he hopes that he sees her enjoying what she is already feeling. She already twitches and sometimes tightens around him. She blinks her eyes open. “Kiss me,” she says.  


He nearly questions her, because it’s his nature, but then he doesn’t. He listens to her, and for a while there is silence except for the faint, faint telltale creaking of the bedframe.  


She finally breaks the kiss by looking down. He feels their noses bump softly again.  


“Now, just… keep… looking at me,” she says, and there is something deeper and more hungry in her own tone that makes him want to do  _ nothing _ but obey it.  


He looks down into her eyes and nods as best he can. He keeps going at a steady pace, only drawing out and back as much as he  _ needs _ to to feel her. The knot builds in the pit of his stomach and he feels his own muscles tighten with urgency. Her eyes seem to look right through him, knowing everything he is doing. He could almost believe her mocking him for his weakness if not for the shuddering of her breath and the way that sometimes her face seems to tell of uncontrolled rapture from contented watching. Sometimes he sees the whites of her eyes for a second and then her pupils are focused back on him.  


He feels her legs tighten first. One of them she straightens the knee out quickly as if to avoid pain. Then he feels her heartbeat, except it isn’t her heartbeat. It is too slow and too hard to be her heartbeat, squeezing around him as he keeps thrusting.  


Her eyes fall closed, but she grabs for his hip and for the first time he feels fingernails a little.  


“Come on,” she demands. “Please… don’t… stop now. Come on. Tony…” she murmurs. Her body is throbbing around him and her hand is grasping for him and he thrusts harder until he almost feels he owes her apology. She doesn’t seem to mind, though. He keeps moving until finally he spills hot and all over himself into the condom. He holds himself up over her on trembling arms. She feels one of them up again.  


“Thank you,” she murmurs, letter her head loll to the side as she catches her breath.  


Overcome with something strange and wholly honest, Tony leads down and kisses her just above her ear, then over it, then on her neck below it.  


“Stay,” he mumbles into it.  


“In here?” she asks.  


“Yeah,” he says, and as if to explain himself he reaches for the small of her waist, hand gripping softly but then falling away just as gently.  


“Fine. Gotta… put our underwear back on, though,” she says.  


Then Tony, feeling absolutely knackered from this day and what it is dawning on him again has just happened, has to search beneath his bedclothes for Effy’s underwear. When he gives them to her, she demands a tissue, and she has him throw it away along with the condom, hidden beneath some paper.  


Finally, she is satisfied that they are safe, and she comes close enough for her chin to touch his shoulder. After a while, she is a little closer than that, skin against his skin.  


And in the morning, she will awaken. She will be alone, because Tony has gone to shower. She won’t be alone for long, because he will come back to his room, forcing himself to work out how to look at her again. And he’ll find that little has changed, except that she kisses him good morning in a sly, coy way that a sister should never do. Except she is his sister, and they have never, ever been normal. Alone or with or about each other.  


He does not know what will happen when he goes to university. He hopes that he has not ruined something sacred. She feels sacred to him, in a way that nothing else ever has, but the fact remains that he has taken her into his bed in a way that he can never take back. Never gloss over and pretend didn’t happen. At least with her. So he offers to let her  _ have _ his bed.  


He does not know what this means for when he comes home from university, or if it means anything at all.  


He doesn’t know yet, when he has to go and leave all this behind, if he will look back. 


End file.
